


all things just keep getting better

by lacecat



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Modern Era, Multi, Polyamory, Reality TV, queer eye AU, tags? i dont know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 21:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15127805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: John Silver - thirty-five, lives in Savannah. Works at an environment/sustainability NGO, and he’s an amateur home brewer. Nominated by his friend Logan-something, who works with him.“Oh, he’s got these curls,” Eleanor says from the front passenger seat, squinting at the photo she’s pulled up on her phone. “He’s definitely your type, Flint.”“No,” Flint says automatically, from where he’s wedged in the backseat between Max and Muldoon. “He brews his own beer, and he admits it.”“I think that’s an admirable, hip hobby to have,” Eleanor says, flashing a bright smile to the camera attached to their windshield, the one that has a tiny Queer Eye sticker just above the lens. Next to her, Anne squints as she presses one of the buttons over the crackly radio.





	all things just keep getting better

**Author's Note:**

> pride month may be over BUT IT NEVER REALLY ENDS
> 
> an absolutely ridiculous queer eye au that was absolutely (un)necessary, thanks

John Silver - thirty-five, lives in Savannah. Works at an environment/sustainability NGO, and he’s an amateur home brewer. Nominated by his friend Logan-something, who works with him. 

 

“Oh, he’s got these  _curls_ ,” Eleanor says from the front passenger seat, squinting at the photo she’s pulled up on her phone. “He’s definitely your type, Flint.”

 

“No,” Flint says automatically, from where he’s wedged in the backseat between Max and Muldoon. “He brews his own beer _,_  and he  _admits_  it.”

 

“I think that’s an admirable, hip hobby to have,” Eleanor says, flashing a bright smile to the camera attached to their windshield, the one that has a tiny  _Queer Eye_  sticker just above the lens. Next to her, Anne squints as she presses one of the buttons over the crackly radio. 

 

This van is much too small for five people, Flint thinks to himself, but the production team squandered all their money on some shiny new camera - hence Flint’s three hours into one of the worst car trip’s he’s ever been a part of. He tries to shift so Max's long earring stops poking him in the ear, as he considers that for the first episode, it has already gone on for way too long. He's already been away from Thomas for three long weeks just for filming promotional footage.

 

Muldoon’s shoulder bumps into his as Anne makes some quick turn, which in turn makes Max’s fingers dig into Flint’s arm. The bald man quickly apologizes under his breath to Flint, like it’s a nervous reflex at this point, while Max just continues staring out the side window. 

 

Flint sighs. “He has horrible facial hair, doesn’t he?" he asks Eleanor, as the car sways. Someone honks at them. “A goatee of sorts?" 

 

Beside him, Muldoon shudders. 

 

“He probably wears a fedora,” Max adds. "If he’s wearing a fedora, we deserve to know that before we arrive.” 

 

“Well,” Eleanor says, scrolling down, “No fedora, but there is a questionable amount of mustache I’m seeing here.” 

 

"Did we miss the exit?" Anne demands. "Max - you were supposed to tell me when we get to the exit!"

 

Max frowns, leaning forward "No, no, it should be right up here - "

 

"We missed it," Muldoon says. "I saw the sign go by." 

 

"You didn't think to fucking say something?" 

 

"Max never pays attention when she's supposed to be navigating," Eleanor says, despite Max and Anne's matching glares. "We once had to add an hour to a road trip to Montreal because she was on her phone - "

 

"It was  _Vermont_ , and you're the one who thought that the cell coverage would last the entire trip," Max throws right back, and Flint closes his eyes briefly, "Or was it that you were too cheap to pay for the unlimited plan?"

 

"Wait, were you two - " Muldoon says, and he cuts himself off, thanks to Flint's elbow in his side, too late. 

 

Eleanor adjusts the tortoiseshell sunglasses left high on her head. "We were." 

 

"Not that she ever wanted to call it that," Max snaps, and Anne actually slams her hand on the horn - or maybe that's because the pickup truck to their left veered into their lane. 

 

"We should take a stop," Flint says. 

 

 

•••

 

 

Flint had originally laughed at the contract that he had been offered to do a season of  _Queer Eye_. There was  _no way_  he was going to be on the road for a few months, away from his job, his family, and have a camera in his face as he gave soon-to-be-ignored advice. 

 

Then, he had taken another look at the advance payment, the number of digits there, and he had decided to give it a little more thought. 

 

He was contemplating those numbers - specifically, the long way that money would go towards speeding up the opening of his restaurant - standing in the kitchen when Thomas had come in, early one morning. 

 

“You’ve either received notice that our divorce paperwork has gone through,” Thomas says with a yawn, “And you’re free to marry Anderson Cooper now - or are you obsessing over the utility bills again?” 

 

Flint scoffs. “I wouldn’t leave you for  _Anderson Cooper_ ," he says. "You're projecting your journalist fantasies again. And you would have had to sign the divorce paperwork too for it to be legally binding - oh, and the dividing of assets would be such a nightmare, while we're at it - "

 

“Should I be concerned you're thinking this much about the details of divorce?”

 

“I was a lawyer too, remember?” He swivels to look at him as Thomas goes to open their fridge. “It’s not utility bills.” 

 

“Oh?” Thomas peers into the fridge, but Flint knows he's listening given the slight tilt of his head towards him. "What, then?" 

 

“It’s that television show,” Flint says. “The reality - lifestyle one. They want me to sign on as the cooking expert.”

 

“Hm,” Thomas says, his voice muffled as he reaches for the orange juice. Flint loves that man more than life itself, but if Thomas tries to drink directly from the carton, he’s going to have to  _really_  divorce him. “I presume it’s an agreeable amount they’re offering?” 

 

“Very,” Flint says, and he sighs. “I don’t see the appeal of reality television - just to start, what if it harms my reputation if I’m showing up on some fluff piece program?"

 

"I don't think you could harm that easily- " 

 

"They're going to be asking me to make grilled cheese twenty times a day," Flint adds, "Not exactly the most compelling dish that a chef could show."

 

“Or, this could give you excellent publicity,” Thomas points out, gesturing at him with the bottle. “If it takes off, you’d be a household name. That, I imagine, would bring a very healthy number of people to your tables. You'd be quite appealing on the screen, I have no doubt.” 

 

“Be serious.” 

 

“I am serious. This could be good, James.” Thomas sets down the carton, takes his hand. “If you really don’t want to, and it's about the money - you  _know_  I’d be more than willing to convince - " 

 

“Thank you, but still no,” Flint says, squeezing his hand, and Thomas gives him a small, resigned smile.

 

It used to be an argument between them, about funding his dream. Thomas, from the first time that Flint had told him about his dream of starting and opening his own restaurant, had been more than willing to become a backer - and he had started to get his wealthy colleagues to sign on, before fully having that conversation with Flint. 

 

One of Flint's many flaws is his pride, though, and he wanted his restaurant to succeed with his team's hard work. It had caused quite a few arguments, whenever Flint had shut down that possibility, which Thomas had interpreted (perhaps rightfully) as Flint unable to accept help from even his husband.

 

It's a little selfish, since as much as this seems to him like it's the first thing that Flint has tried to do on his own, what he does affects Thomas now. Thomas just wanted to see him happy, he knows, and he had nearly accepted the money just so that they would stop arguing over it. But Thomas had figured out that whatever financial help that Flint didn't want, he could provide just as much value in emotional support, and Flint was more than willing to take that.

 

It's Thomas, after all, that listens to Flint argue over the phone with his manager, be there for him when Flint comes home wired with stress when a real estate deal has fallen through, rub the tension from his shoulders after a long day. Even since the early days of their relationship, when Flint had come home late from being a sous chef reeking of garlic and fish, Thomas has stayed with him through it all, offering advice and comfort when Flint needed it the most.

 

Thomas runs his thumb along Flint's knuckles. "What is it that you want to do?" 

 

Flint still doesn’t want to take his money - even though Thomas has emphasized it’s  _their money, ever since you put a ring on it, darling_  - but he also doesn’t want to be hundreds of miles away from Thomas now, either. Thomas is right, that this show could be something - but there's so much uncertainty.

 

Flint is the luckiest man in the world, after all, he thinks, to have Thomas Hamilton put up with all his nonsense and still love him. 

 

He settles on saying, “I don’t know what I want. There's just - so many decisions. And I'd have to be away for so long. There are so many ways this could go wrong - "

 

“James," Thomas says, "Do you want to do the show?” 

 

“Well," Flint says, "They  _are_  offering me a signing bonus of many digits - “ 

 

“But do you  _want_  to do it?” Thomas presses. 

 

“I’m considering it,” Flint says finally. He picks up the papers, hands them to Thomas.“They’ve given me until Tuesday to decide. It - god help me, it could be rewarding.”

 

Thomas's eyes scan over the contract, a lawyer's sharp focus as he reads.  “The show’s - it's queer people improving the lives of others?" 

 

“Yeah,” Flint says, shifting his weight. “I’d teaching a bunch of idiots how to cut a carrot each week, but I’d get to talk about my husband openly, so there's that."

 

It’s a definite benefit. When he started working as a chef, he didn’t think he could even think about having a boyfriend, let alone talk about his personal life on television and have that be  _expected_. When Eleanor had introduced him to the producers, he had been more than a little surprised that they were doing it. 

 

“Well, then, you have to do it,” Thomas says, and Flint lets go of his hand to swat at his shoulder lightly. He just laughs, setting the papers down. "I have a large ego, you _know_  you need to feed it on a national level. Consider that in your decision, I mean."  

 

Flint rolls his eyes. “Speaking of feeding, I was going to start breakfast,” he says, as Thomas’s hands go to his hips. “I was thinking a frittata with those mushrooms we picked - what are you doing?” 

 

“Thinking about eating something,” Thomas says casually, walking them both back until the counter hits the small of Flint’s back. “I should be telling you to do the show because you look best when you’re sweating in that apron of yours, you know.”

 

Flint can feel a rather embarrassing blush climbing up his chest as Thomas’s arms block him in. “Would you quit it?" he says without any real heat. 

 

"With your sleeves rolled up, face a little red, hair slipping out of that delightful bun as you shout orders?" Thomas asks, ducking his head down to press a kiss to his jaw. "I’d be doing the country a favor, giving them that visual. Oh - or maybe I'm a selfish man, maybe I want to keep that all for myself - " 

 

“You’re a shallow man,” Flint tells him. “This is a major decision."

 

 

“You might be leaving me for a terribly long time,” Thomas says, kissing his neck. “Let me get my time in now.” 

 

“I was going to be  _cooking,"_ Flint complains, but he is a hypocrite in the best way, after all, as he hooks his heel around Thomas's calf, pulling him in as he licks along his neck. "And not in the kitchen, it's  _clean_  in here - "

 

“I have an alternative plan,” Thomas tells him, as his hands come up to around Flint’s face, and he kisses him sweet and deep, swallowing any more protests. Flint’s not about to stop him, as they stand there in the sun-drenched kitchen that he loves so much before Thomas pulls him back to their bed.

 

He thinks that he'd be the best chef in the world if he could create something that would bring as much happiness to someone eating as what he feels right now. As Thomas kisses all over his face, as Flint touches every line and eyelash like it's the first time they've done this. He loves to cook because bringing that sort of emotion to someone - be it in a dish that reminds someone of their home, or making Thomas laugh as they're tangled up in one another - that's what it's all about, isn't it?

 

Somewhere along the line, Flint knows he's made that decision. The show's about improving people's - good people - lives. The way that Thomas makes him feel, he would want others to feel that way, and he can do that through cooking. And if that's by showing ex-frat boys how to cook grilled cheese, well, it's a start.  

 

Later, Thomas leans in the doorway of their bedroom, whereas Flint’s still face down on the bed, feeling rather like he's about to fall asleep.

 

Thomas says, “If you do it, do you know any of the others?”

 

“Technically, no,” Flint says drowsily, not bothering to pick his face from where it’s pressed to the pillow. “But Eleanor told me about it - and Max sent me a photo of her depositing some big check, so I'm guessing she was another one of the people to sign on." 

 

“Hm,” Thomas says. “You do like both of them. Shame we can't have them both over at the same time anymore." 

 

"I'll be away for at least three months," Flint mutters, his mind already thinking about what he's going to have to do. "I'll send Gates here occasionally to make sure you remember to eat - oh, and don't forget about the cat - " 

 

There’s a telltale, chugging sound of liquid leaving a bottle. Flint starts to pick up his head. “So help me, Mr. Hamilton, tell me you are  _not_  drinking from that bottle right now - "

 

 

•••

 

They have to stop for gas just before they get to the address that the producers had given them. Flint's not sure what happens behind the rest stop building, but when Max and Eleanor return, they're not exactly friendly, but at least aren't trading barbs anymore. 

 

He does notice how Anne looks between the two of them as she's getting gas. Her eyes focus on Max, and her brow unfurrows - but not to make room for any happy expression. There's something across her face that makes Flint uncomfortable to witness, as the three others get back in.

 

He pauses with his hand on the top of the van. Anne continues to pump gas. 

 

Flint clears his throat. "You're from across the pond too, yeah?" 

 

"Obviously," Anne says shortly, and Flint decides he'll just get in the car. Thomas was always the better one at small talk, let alone,  _I'm sorry you seem to be trapped in a love triangle of epic proportions_. 

 

Then they're pulling up to the house, finally. In the car that pulls up behind them, two cameramen come out, filming this first meeting. 

 

“Welcome to Savannah,” John Silver says as he opens the door. “Uh, you're from that TV show, right?” 

 

Flint's not sure how the cameramen - now circling them all -  are going to capture this and make it look good. Eleanor’s got her sunglasses on as she chews her gum, and Max looks unfairly put together, and yet her face is perfectly blank too. Anne’s lurking right beside Flint, and from the corner of his eye, looking even more stony-faced than Flint himself. 

 

Muldoon’s the only one who has the sense to clear his throat in the silence, putting on some expression approaching friendly. “John Silver?” 

 

“Call me Silver, “ the man says, and there’s a beat of silence. “You guys want anything to drink? I’ve got plenty of beer.” 

 

Flint can feel the back of his shirt sticking to his back from the heat. Already, the sun feels like it’s blistering the back of his neck. He’d been warned how humid Savannah is in the summer, but there’s preparing and there’s  _experiencing_. “Is this beer you made yourself?” he asks. 

 

Silver’s eyes fall on him, and a delighted grin spreads on his face. “Hey, I know you,” he says. “You're one of those silver fox Calvin Klein models, right? Well - red fox, I guess - " 

 

“Ugh,” Max says, but Silver's beam doesn't even falter.

 

From the front of the group, Eleanor says, “Mr. Silver,” she says rather grandly, “Welcome to  _Queer Eye._ ” 

 

 

•••

 

 

John Silver is - unfortunately - attractive. 

 

The photo that Flint had caught a glimpse of from Eleanor’s screen didn’t do his blue eyes justice. Although the beard is rather terrible, he has an easy smirk and plenty of dark, curly, hair - even though it’s tangled, and he’s wearing an eye-searing neon tee shirt that makes Max take a preemptive step away from him, he’s got that sort of easy charisma that Flint both hates and is instinctively drawn towards.

 

It’s unfortunate because every time Silver opens his mouth, Flint wants to strangle him. He makes them all try his homebrew - or at least, accept plastic cups of it, as Anne takes one and doesn’t even bother to bring it to her mouth to pretend - and he talks  _endlessly_. Flint thinks that he might be some character in himself, from the wild curls to the painted prosthetic leg, the way he gestures broadly just before his body language turns into itself just as soon. 

 

He tells them about Logan, the friend who had nominated him, his job, his “decor choices” - Flint sees Anne raise one eyebrow at the broken IKEA bookshelves pushed to the side of the apartment - and anything and everything.

 

Flint's good with people. That's why he also knows that Silver lies just as easily as he smiles, and about half the stories are either wildly embellished or otherwise just entirely  _made up._ People lie, this he knows, but someone who just lies all the time? Flint's not quite sure why he even bothers. 

 

“So you guys are traveling the country, bettering lives, fighting the good fight?” Silver asks, taking a sip of his beer. 

 

“Something like that,” Muldoon says, still mopping the top of his bald head with a monogrammed handkerchief. “We’ve been in the car for a very long time.” 

 

“Do you have a roommate?” Max asks, still peering around the space. 

 

“Ah, no, just me and - well, my pet bird flew away a few days ago,” Silver says. 

 

There’s a long pause. Flint says, “The bird that’s just behind you?” 

 

Silver turns around, looks at the blindingly green bird with no small amount of fondness on his features as he reaches out, scratches the very top of her head. “Oh, that’s the other one. Did I not say I had two? I call her Captain.” 

 

That explains the smell, at least. "She's very... colorful."

 

Silver just beams in response. “Do you like birds, then?” 

 

“No,” Flint says, but Silver’s smile seems to grow as his recalcitrance. Jesus, Flint's going to get himself fired from this show and it's all going to be because of that smile. 

 

"They're tearing up the furniture if you keep them loose," Anne says, possibly the first thing she's said since they've entered. "You need perches." 

 

"They like to be free," Silver says, "They're  _birds_." 

 

"They smell," Flint says.

 

“That’s not really helpful,” Eleanor says though, looking between them. “Silver, can you show Anne around your apartment? She’ll be the one redesigning your space.” 

 

Anne steps forward, and the two cameramen follow them as she disappears around the corner, Silver glancing back at Flint one more time before he goes as well. 

 

“I’ll say it,” Max says, joining Eleanor and Flint where they’ve been regarding the stained futon propped in the middle of the living room. “I don’t know many thirty-five-year-old men, but is this... standard?“ From across the room, Muldoon nudges the futon with his knee, then cringes. 

 

“I knew Flint when he was thirty-five,” Eleanor says. “He had a nice apartment - it was a lot cleaner, though lots of boring beige. But he’s gay, so -” 

 

“That’s a stereotype,” Flint tells her, as she raises an eyebrow, looking amused, and he knows she’s riling him up on purpose, but still - “I like having nice things, is that so strange?” 

 

“This is bad,” Max says, though it’s more like hissing through her teeth, and they both look at her. “I think I saw something move over there. And did you see that  _shirt_  - “ 

 

“Well, we’re all experts,” Eleanor says. “That’s why we’re here.” 

 

“Yeah, but  _him_?” Muldoon chimes in. "I mean, the sheer lack of hair product -  even  _moisturizer_  in this place - " 

 

“The producers will love him,” Eleanor says. “He’s surprisingly photogenic, given everything about him.” 

 

“He’s hitting on Flint with a surprising amount of confidence, I’ll give him that,” Max says, and Flint turns to glare at her. She looks unrepentant, inspecting her glossy nails. 

 

"He does have taste," Eleanor says. "Maybe he'll like rock-climbing, painting - or something other than beer. Ugh. The smell reminds me of Charles." 

 

Flint toes away an old pizza box on the ground. It breaks a little upon contact, and he sighs. “Remind me why we’re doing this?” 

 

“Bettering humanity,” Max answers. “Opportunity to be shown to the world. Lots of money.” 

 

“Did you just say lots of money?” Silver says, coming back in, Anne trailing behind with her baseball cap pulled low over her head. He visibly perks up when they turn to look at him. “Am I getting paid for this?” 

 

 

•••

 

 

“Well, I inherited the apartment from my friend Logan,” Silver says. “It was rather… messy to start, I’ll say. Then he moved out to join his girlfriend, and it’s just been me and the girls.” 

 

“The girls -?” Flint stops. “You mean the birds.” 

 

“Well, yeah,” Silver says. They’re all seated in the common backyard, outside the apartment. The chairs are rusty and it’s more pavement than anything else, but Flint thinks that the space has potential, especially given Anne’s eyeing everything like she’s making a plan, dumping out an abandoned flower pot and critically holding it up to the light. 

 

Silver has elected to lean on the table as they take up the chairs, staring at Flint mostly and doing that dumb grin each time Flint meets his eyes. “They like it out here. In the evening, there’s a nice breeze, goes right through their feathers." 

 

“And you mentioned that the end of the week, you’ve got a date?” Eleanor prompts. 

 

That makes Silver’s face relax for a moment, and he actually looks thoughtful. “I do. My…. friend is coming into town.”

 

“Friend, as in, dating friend?” 

 

“Yes,” Silver says. “Well, maybe - "

 

"What does that mean?" 

 

"She’s - it’s complicated," Silver finishes, rubbing the back of his neck. "But she is my girlfriend, sometimes, at one point."

 

Eleanor turns to look right into one of the cameras. “We’re going to make sure John is ready for his date on Friday,” she says, “And to do that, we’re going to get started right away. The Fab Five have a lot of work cut out for them!” 

 

Flint frowns. “The what Five?” 

 

"Oh, this is going to be  _fun_ ," Silver says, and when Flint looks at him, his eyes are still on him, and there's still a faint ghost of that smile that only grows the longer Flint stares at him, like some stubborn weed that flourishes even under the harsh sun.  

 

 

•••

 

 

For the week, they all divide up the days properly. Anne gets the rest of the day to discuss the structural integrity of his apartment or something with Silver, which turns into a lot of Silver nervously talking to her, while Anne stares at him, occasionally making sounds that could be disagreement or enthusiasm, for her.

 

Flint's not quite sure how she's going to manage to do anything by the end of the week, so he along with the others are quite fine with Anne getting the extra time. He watches as Silver continues to wring his hands while she pulls out a toolkit she’s apparently been keeping nearby, and abandons them in favor of using a tape measure seemingly on every surface in the apartment, Silver trailing behind. 

 

Max says, “I think maybe you should take him first,” to Flint. “He could use a good meal.” 

 

Flint frowns. “He doesn’t even have a real kitchen.” He thinks he might have seen a microwave and hot plate on the ground, but he’s not taking any chances with either one of those. 

 

“I’ll need a day or two to get together the list of stores,” Max says, already on her phone, probably booking roughly half a dozen fashion designer appointments. “Muldoon needs to find a place to set up. It’s either you or Eleanor.” 

 

Flint glances over at Eleanor, who shrugs. “I’ll talk to him on camera, try to get some more information on this girlfriend,” she says. “The beer thing is… weird, yes, but it gives him niche appeal.” 

 

Flint is once again very aware of the cameras trained on them, constantly filming. He clears his throat. “I’ll go on Tuesday, then.”

 

They all turn to watch Silver following Anne around, appearing to attempt to engage her in conversation. At one point, when Anne’s trying to get the height of the ceiling in one place, he even tries to help - at which she slaps his hand away, and says a few choice words that makes Silver take a big step back, raising his hands. 

 

"They're going to have to edit that out," Max says, sounding rather fond as Anne now takes a garbage bag, tossing in several items despite Silver's protests. Flint watches her watch Anne. 

 

Eleanor sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. “Just one week. Think of the paychecks, yeah?" 

 

"I need a bigger paycheck if they're going to do a season two," Muldoon says. "I was cutting Cate Blanchett's hair last week - now  _this_ \- "

 

"Hey!" Silver calls out from across the room. "That's my bottlecap collection -  _yes,_  some of them are sticky, it's not like they're going to go bad - " 

 

Flint stares right into the camera. "Thomas, I underestimated this," he says. 

 

"Uh, no shoutouts," the cameraman says. 

 

Flint just glares at him. 

 

 

•••

 

 

“So, John Silver,” Eleanor says, as they’re driving in the van the next morning. “You’re new to the area?” 

 

“I moved here for a job,” Silver says. He adjusts his seatbelt, then resumes tapping his foot against the dashboard. “Um, where are you taking me, exactly?” 

 

“For a long drive,” Eleanor says. The cameraman mutters something from the backseat, but she ignores him. “You’re our first episode, so - congratulations.”

 

“Sorry, I just - I’m not going to end up in a ditch somewhere, am I?” 

 

Eleanor sighs. “I’m going to be your Culture Consultant,” she tells him, as they wind done some rural road. “So tell me about - I don’t know, your hobbies, what you do for fun, et cetera.” 

 

“I’m a man of many interests,” Silver says. “I told you about my craft beer - “

 

“What else?” 

 

“ - I like fishing?” Silver tries. “Or at least, I think I do. I’ve never gone. But I think I’d like it.” 

 

“Okay,” Eleanor says, focusing on the windshield. “How about music, then?”

 

"Eh, it's all right," Silver says. 

 

"Any music?" Eleanor pushes. "Come on - you must like something specific." 

 

"What can I say," Silver says. "I'm a man of varied tastes." 

 

"Movies?"

 

"I broke my DVD player a few months back. I don't know, I guess I like comedies?" 

 

Eleanor eventually pulls the car over to the side of the road, near a nice little park. Silver actually starts to look nervous, so she tries to look less threatening.

 

She's not sure it works, given the forced smile on her face just seems to make his eyes go wider and wider until she's pretty sure he's sweating into the fake leather seat. 

 

"So, tell me about this somewhat-girlfriend," Eleanor says, turning to fully face him. Ugh, he really is sweating, or maybe that's the hideous pattern on his shirt. "What's her name?" 

 

Silver looks at her, and for a moment, Eleanor thinks that she might have misread him. Unbidden, her mind takes her to the memory of meeting Max the first time - the glint in her eye then, just like how Silver's weighing his next words, before that look disappears just as quickly as Eleanor had picked up on it. 

 

"Madi," Silver says at last, and at least the way he says her name carefully, like it's something delicate rolling off his tongue - holds some promise to that relationship. She's really got to stop reading those cheap romance novels, Eleanor thinks to herself. "We've known each other since college." 

 

"Is she local?" 

 

"She's living in Atlanta," Silver says. "Her parents live in D.C., and she's swinging through after she visits them."

 

"Silver," Eleanor says, "Let me tell you something about girlfriends. They rarely  _just swing through._ Did she tell you she's just dropping by?"

 

"Well, yes," Silver says. "What, is that bad?" 

 

"It means she probably sounded casual about it when talking to you," Eleanor tells him. "If she sounds casual about it, that means she doesn't want you to know that she's making any effort. If she told you about the effort, then, well, it means that she's irritated with that effort and is thinking to herself,  _why am I bothering visiting him_?"

 

"Um," Silver says, "That seems rather complicated. Madi's pretty straight-forward, so I don't think - "

 

"I know women," Eleanor tells him. "They never fully say what they mean. Men don't either, but unless you have a boyfriend on the side - ?" 

 

"Uh, no, I don't," Silver says. "I mean, I did - " 

 

"So trust me, you need to read between the lines," Eleanor says bluntly. "Relationships, they're a choice. You make decisions that affect them, affect whatever's between you, and that's it. Have you told her that you want her to visit?"

 

Silver blinks, looking back to the cameraman, then back at her. "I don't know." 

 

"You're going to call her, and let her know you're looking forward to her arrival," Eleanor says. "And to expect you to show up at the airport with a new haircut. If I can't convince you to give up that horrible homebrew hobby, well, I'll give you this advice - use your words." 

 

"What's your deal, then?" Silver asks, and Eleanor blinks. 

 

"Pardon?" 

 

"You seem like you've gone through a bit of, ah, a breakup," Silver says. "Call it your candor just now. Let me guess - that woman back there?" 

 

She breathes through her nose for a second, but Silver does little more than lean a little away. "Max and I dated at one point, yes. But more about - " 

  
"Well, it seems like you've forgotten that sometimes, people know what they want," Silver points out. "Apologies to your expertise, but  _I_ know Madi, not you. And I know our relationship. I'm not some terrible boyfriend who doesn't use his words. But Madi .- "

 

Eleanor watches as Silver turns to look out the windshield. "She deserves more than me," he says, a little quietly. "I don't know. Maybe this - being on this show, it'll give her something to work with." 

 

Eleanor smiles, just in time for Silver to turn his head back. "What?" he asks, looking a little peeved. 

 

"I may have misjudged you," Eleanor says. "It seems we'll have something to work with, after all." 

 

  
"Work with - I thought you guys were supposed to be nice to me." 

 

"Niceties don't change the word, nor do they change people," Eleanor says, and she turns the keys in the ignition once more. "We're going to go the tailor. Max wants to get your measurements before she has you on Wednesday." 

 

"You and her, huh," Silver says. "Ended badly?" 

 

"Sort of," Eleanor says. "You could say she deserved more, or maybe I did." 

 

"What's Flint's deal, by the way?" Silver asks, just a little too casually. "Just while we're at it?" 

 

"Don't," Eleanor tells him, as he raises his hand in mock defense, and she pulls back onto the road. 

 

 

•••

 

 

Flint's the only one back at the apartment, and he's not expecting anyone to return so soon, which is why when the door slams open, he jumps  _just a little_. 

 

"Oh," Silver says from the doorway. "The door requires a little force to open - I'm not used to other people being here. Did I - " 

 

"No," Flint barks out, mostly to hide that he accidentally knocked over a stack of pizza boxes destined for the trash. "I'm cleaning before Anne fixes up this place. Have you packed a bag of everything you'll need for the week?" 

 

"Your colleague dropped me off to do just that," Silver says. "Uh - sorry about the mess." 

 

"Sorry about the mess," the parrot in the corner of the room echoes. That's another thing that Flint has learned about this place. 

  
"Jesus, that's going to get old," Flint mutters, then raises his voice when he sees Silver's eyebrows raise. "Well? Aren't you going to pack?"  

 

"Are you always this harsh to your contestants?" Silver asks him, stepping over another full garbage bag. 

 

"We just started filming," Flint tells him. "So you're the first." 

 

"Oh, I'm your first - I'm honored," Silver says, and he looks perfectly innocent as Flint narrows his eyes. "Well, if I can't help you - "

 

"You didn't offer."

 

" - I just have a question," Silver says. "You're the chef, right?" 

 

"The chef," Flint repeats, flat, as he ties up a bag, feeling Silver's eyes on him. "Yes." 

 

"You're going to teach me to cook?" 

 

"I'll try." 

 

"Well, you'll be glad to know, I'm an excellent cook," Silver says, and he smirks when Flint looks up at him "I ran a restaurant once - I was a humble waiter, and all the line cooks were out with a truly hideous case of the flu."  

 

"Really," Flint says, looking at the hot plate, and back to him.

 

"Truly," Silver says. "So prepare your worst. I think you'll find I'll fully exceed your expectations." 

 

Flint resumes stuffing a trash bag, already nearly full. "They were low to start, to be honest," he says. "How much take-out do you even eat?" 

 

"I work some late nights," Silver says, then, "You don't sound like you're from here."

 

"I'm not." Flint props up the garbage bag against the back of the couch. "Eleanor prep you for your date on Friday?"

 

"Yes, in her own way," Silver says rather cryptically. "Although I think if your colleague makes good on his threats to take off my beard, she might not even recognize me. Are you married, then?"

 

Flint glances over, sees Silver's pointed look at the wedding bang on his finger. Flint resists the urge to twist it. "I am."

 

"And what does your spouse do?" 

 

"My husband is a lawyer." 

 

"Wow," Silver says, "A lawyer and a chef. You two really have it all."

 

"I'd like to think so, yes," Flint says, feeling rather like he's missed the point of this conversation, the more Silver looks right at him. "Did you want something, or - ?" 

 

"I'm just getting to know you," Silver says easily, "I think I'm going to look forward to this week. I'll see you tomorrow, right?" 

 

"Yeah," Flint says, still unsure, as Silver strides by with another bright smile. He's already starting to pull off his shirt as he goes, and Flint sees a strip of tanned skin just above the waist of his jeans - the hint of dimples on the small of his back, maybe the bottom of a tattoo - as Silver disappears into the bedroom.

 

He drags his eyes away and makes himself stuff another pizza box into the bag. 

 

"Looking forward to this week," the parrot echoes, a little late, and Flint jumps once again. 

 

 

•••

 

 

“Thomas, he’s  _terrible,_  he probably thinks that salt is unnecessary _- “_

_“_ Hang on, what’s his name?” Over the webcam link, Thomas's face looks far too interested in the middle of Flint's tirade. "John something, yeah?"

“No," Flint says instantly. "I'm not going to tell you." 

Thomas sticks out his lower lip a little. "You're going to let confidentiality contracts ruin my fun?"

"Says the lawyer." 

"James!"

"Thomas."

Thomas's pout increases.

"Ugh," Flint says. "John Silver. Just don't - "

"Of course, dear," Thomas says, already typing away. "He works at that environmental activist group?" 

"Yes," Flint says, and then determined not to let his rant go to waste, he adds, "His apartment is a  _mess_  - just covered in takeout boxes and random pieces of clothing, Anne nearly had a stroke - " 

Thomas says, “Ah, I think I found -  _oh_.” 

“Oh?” Flint's regretting his lack of willpower when it comes to his husband. 

“He’s very handsome,” Thomas says, then, "Exactly your type, isn't he?"

 

"What - what does that mean?"

 

"It says here he's a veteran," Thomas tells him. "Oh, he's friends with one of my colleagues from work, too - "

"Thomas," Flint says. " _What does that mean_?" 

“Nothing,” Thomas says, sounding far too innocent. “Or maybe everything. He seems the type, though." 

"Thomas," Flint says, trying to sound patient and loving, "You haven't met him. If you had, you would know he's not at all my type - also, this is a rather strange conversation to be having  _with my husband_." 

"Oh, the power of love," Thomas says. "I'm not the jealous type - oh, he even knows Eme! It's remarkable we haven't ever crossed paths." 

Flint pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re not making much sense, and I’m not sure whether it’s you or the fact I'm very low on sleep with now. "

“Go sleep, love,” Thomas tells him. “I’ll call you tomorrow, all right? Love you.” 

"I love you too," Flint says. 

 

•••

 

 

Silver is a goddamn liar. 

 

Two burned plates, a scorched countertop, and  _somehow_ , a melted butterknife later, Silver's standing by as Flint wrenches open the window. "Well, it's been a few years since I've cooked," Silver demurs, as Flint waves a dishcloth at the plumes of smoke coming from the oven. "I thought it would be like riding a bike, to be fair."

 

"A few years," Flint repeats, feeling rather frustrated. "Tell me, have you ever stepped foot in a kitchen?"

 

"Well, only one foot," Silver says, tapping on his metal leg. He's wearing cargo pants and a bright green shirt that, quite frankly, makes Flint want to light them on fire, smoke be damned. "It has been some time, though, yes. But that wasn't too bad, was it?" 

 

"You're a safety risk to everyone in the apartment building," Flint snaps. "What makes you think you can store oil in the oven after all?" 

 

"I ran out of space in the freezer!"

 

"Why would you-you know what, I don't even want to know," Flint grouses. "Just - why the fuck would you lie about kitchen experience!"

 

"I most certainly did not!"

 

"You cannot look me in the eye and tell me that you worked in a kitchen," Flint says, and now he feels that vein in his forehead pulsing. He hears the cameramen quietly exit the room, likely not wanting to get this particular exchange on tape. 

 

"Well, I did work in the kitchen," Silver says quickly as if he too sees the thin veneer over Flint's anger. "But it was only cold food - and some of it was premade for that night - " 

 

"Just - " Flint runs his hand over his face, and he hisses when the skin on the side of his hand pulls at the gesture. "Fuck."

 

"Did you burn your hand?" Silver asks. 

 

"It's nothing," Flint says with more snap than he intended. He had, but it's a fairly minor injury - he's had his fair share of cuts and burns, after all - so he's not expecting it when Silver closes the distance between them, taking his hand and putting it under the cool water from the faucet. 

 

"That's the best for burns," Silver tells him, as Flint watches the water pour over both their hands. "Sorry about all this."

 

Flint sighs. "It's not the dumbest mistake I've seen in a kitchen," he says, the water soothing both the burn and his temper. "But you can get seriously hurt if you're not careful." 

 

"Figures," Silver says. "You're a good chef, right?" 

 

"If you mean I don't light things on fire on a regular basis, then yes," Flint says dryly. 

 

"You have your own restaurant?"

 

"Trying," Flint says. "It's a tough business." He doesn't miss how Silver's fingers are gently turning his wrist, getting the entire surface of the burn with the water. "I can just - " 

 

"I think you'd be good at it," Silver says. "I mean, you have the whole - ambiance down." His hands are surprisingly gentle as his thumb slips a little against Flint's index finger. 

 

"Ambience?" 

 

"I've never seen a man pull off a bun so well," Silver adds, and Flint rolls his eyes, taking back his hand finally and flexing it a little. 

 

"I'm going to show you how to make scrambled eggs," Flint tells him, "And then I'm going to take you to the owner of this kitchen, and you're going to apologize very nicely to him for burning the new counters." 

 

"What - scrambled eggs?" 

 

“Scrambled eggs,” Flint repeats. “It’s simple, it gives you the skills you need for a lot of other future recipes, and you should always have eggs in the fridge.”

 

“I don’t eat a lot of eggs,” Silver admits, looking unashamed, as Flint goes to the fridge now. "What are you doing?" 

 

"Chop these up," Flint orders, handing the chives to Silver. Silver complies, as Flint keeps a much closer eye on him. In the corner of his eye, he can see the cameras come back, silently recording them at work. 

 

"Where did you meet your husband?" Silver asks, focusing on the knife going in and out of the small pile, the way that Flint had shown him before the oven disaster. 

 

"We met at university," Flint says, "No - much smaller. They're for a little taste, you don't want an entire chunk in one bite - " 

 

"You didn't go to culinary school?"

 

"I was a lawyer too, once," Flint says. "We worked together. Focus on your chopping." 

 

"An interesting career transition," Silver muses, "Reminds me of when I was briefly in medical school - "

 

"Watch your hand," Flint orders, guiding him to add chives to the eggs that Flint had previously put in the bowl. "If you're going to ask so many questions, at least consider the placement of your pinky." 

 

He watches as Silver mixes. Flint says, feeling somewhat abrupt about it, "You didn't tell us that you served."

 

"It's not exactly a fun topic," Silver says, and Flint can't see his face, but there's something suspiciously light in his tone now. He keeps on stirring. "The leg is kind of a conversation ender." 

 

"I was in the Navy," Flint says, and Silver doesn't turn, but Flint can tell he's listening with the slight turn of his head. "Dishonorably discharged."

 

"Ah," Silver says. "If I didn't know you were a chef, I would have guessed career military."

 

"It's a conversation ender to some, but it's an important part of my past," Flint says, knowing he's on unsteady territory when Silver slows down his stirring. "I understand if you don't want to talk about it - whatever it is - "

 

"The thing about not bringing it up is that it means you don't really have to talk about it," Silver says smoothly. "That's what's useful about omission." 

 

"You don't have to," Flint says, firm. He's aware of the cameras recording at this moment, and he knows Silver is too, but he thinks that if he doesn't say something now, it won't come up again. "If you wanted to, then yes. But I hope someone knows. It's - hard, keeping some things secret. It was harder than I expected." 

 

"Is that so?" Silver asks, and it sounds casual enough, but Flint nods. 

 

  
"I understand," he says. "You should know, though."

 

For a few, long minutes, the only sound is Silver's whisk hitting the bowl, the creak of tile under Flint's feet. 

 

Then Silver says, "Are these done?" He glances at Flint, and although his face betrays no sign of their conversation, there's something in his eyes that makes Flint think that perhaps that conversation was a good idea, after all. 

 

Flint peers over his shoulder. "Acceptable," he says. "Now into the pan, which you're going to stir as they cook." 

 

"I didn't expect to be taking orders from a handsome, renowned chef in some fancy kitchen," Silver says, sounding much more relaxed as he turns and pours the egg mixture into the pan. "This show has been a strange experience already."

 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be showing incompetent heterosexual men how to use a knife, but here I am," Flint says. "Careful!"

 

Silver splutters as egg spills over the edge. Flint pushes by him, wiping off a little from the oven, as Silver says, “I’m not heterosexual, you know.” 

 

Flint is so focused on not starting another fire that it takes him a moment to hear what he’s said. "Oh?"

 

“Bi all the way, baby,” Silver says, and Flint seriously considers hitting him in the head with the roll of paper towels he has by the sink. “But - yeah.” 

 

The flames have died down, and now Flint carefully puts the pan back on the stovetop. “You’re never going to need to cook all the way on high heat,” he tells him, which is partly true, but partly because he doesn’t trust Silver with any large flame. “Medium-high at most."

 

“All right,” Silver says, and he’s got a curious look in his eye, as he turns the knob for the stovetop once again. "How's this?" 

 

"We'll be doing this multiple times," Flint informs him. "You probably don't know how to crack an egg." 

 

"You mean you're not supposed to taste the eggshell?"

 

"Very funny," Flint says, and he finds that he can't look away at the tiny lines in the corner of Silver's eyes, from stifled mirth. “If you can cook those, you can at least feed yourself and your date one thing."

 

"Oh, she's going to have a riot, meeting you," Silver mutters under his breath, before saying, "Am I - am I putting  _all_  of that in here?" 

 

Flint resists rolling his eyes. "You’re going to need more butter than you’d expect, and that's just a good rule of thumb - “ 

 

 

•••

 

 

"Oh my fucking god," Max says, and that's the last thing she says in English for quite some time.

 

Silver waits until it seems to taper off, and then he ventures, "Is it that bad?"

 

"It's not great," Max tells him crisply, but at least she's no longer swearing at him in French. "These are all your clothes?" 

 

"They're a little eclectic, I'll admit," Silver says. "My job is pretty casual." 

 

"Eclectic means paisley, some sequins, maybe a cravat," Max informs him. "You have more tee-shirts than a dormitory." 

 

Silver thinks Max might be the Fab Five member he's most comfortable with, although that means that she probably knows that, and so she's most comfortable being utterly vicious with him. "They're comfortable and colorful," Silver argues. The cameraman steps closer to the assortment of clothes, which he rather feels like he should've straightened up before they came in. "I like color!" 

 

"You can like color, and still be stylish," Max tells him, dressed in a sleeveless black turtleneck dress that is about as far from Silver's wardrobe as it gets. She picks up an old sneaker, curling her lip. "If there are any clothes in here that are more than ten years old, you should toss them right away." 

 

 "Ten years - that's nearly all my clothes!"

"Exactly," Max says. "Clothes make all the difference, and I will show you this." 

"I'm not really the fashion type," Silver admits, as he starts to pick out some old shirts that he's been meaning to toss for a while now. "I don't think I'll ever be. Not to dissuade you from your job, but perhaps I'm a lost cause - "

"Fashion is how we show ourselves to the world," Max says, and suddenly all her attention is on him, the sharp eyeliner around her eyes more striking under the closet light above her head. "It is how we present ourselves to others, how we form social connections, show our true colors, as you say."  

"I meant no offense - " 

"Fashion," Max continues, "Is how we share an identity, differentiate ourselves, and how we show the world the spaces we carve out for our lives. You may have a truly absurd amount of cotton in here, but no one is a lost cause. We will find your fashion, as you will find your voice through clothes." 

"Well," Silver says after a long moment. "That's very eloquent of you." 

"I practice it in the mirror every morning," Max informs him, and he lets out a surprised laugh. "Muldoon!"

The man appears in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"We're going to the stores now," Max says, "But I will need your help carrying in the bags from the car. Will you be around this afternoon?" 

"Sure, I'll be here," Muldoon says, and he raises his eyebrows at Silver. "Ready for tomorrow, then?" 

"Yeah," Silver says, as he leaves. "Boxes - just how many clothes do you think I need?" 

"You see how Flint dresses, yes?" Max throws at him, and Silver blinks.

"Uh - "  _Yes, and I thank whatever God is up there for those tailored jeans_ - "Yeah?"

Max glances back at the door, then leans close. Silver mirrors her, feeling rather like they're conspiring, as she says, "He used to wear exclusively khakis and baggy button-down shirts."

 

"No," Silver breathes out, scandalized. 

 

"He probably gives credit to his husband, but I was the one who provided Thomas with the list of stores to take him to," Max says. "You see?"

 

Silver files away the name  _Thomas_  in his head, and he follows Max out of the closet. "I very much see," Silver says. 'You and I, we should be friends."

 

Max huffs out a brief laugh. "We'll go now," she decides. "I'll just throw everything here out." 

  
"Everything?"

 

"Everything," Max says. 

. 

 

•••

 

 

Flint and Eleanor track down Anne to a small hardware store on the edge of the city. Eleanor waits in the car while he goes in, dipping his head to some of the people going by.

 

Anne seems deep in debate with the store owner on the usage of a certain kind of screw or something, and Flint waits until she's made her purchase - at a deeply, fear-induced discounted price - before meeting her in the parking lot. "How are the plans coming?" 

  
"Slow," Anne says, slinging a bag into the backseat as she climbs in the back. "The contractor's meeting me back at the apartment. We're taking out a wall." 

 

Eleanor, in the passenger's seat, frowns. "Jesus. And you'll be done in time?" 

 

"Yeah," Anne says, and she seems to feel no need to clarify, as she goes silent. 

 

"Silver's out with Max now," Flint says, buckling his seatbelt. "Muldoon's setting up in the hotel - have you found the girlfriend?"

 

"No, she's surprisingly off the grid," Eleanor says as she starts to drive away. "The interview before she came would've been nice, but I suppose we'll make it work. How did cooking go yesterday?" 

 

Flint holds up his bandaged hand. "Not as bad as it could have been," he says. "I owe Dooley a favor for letting us burn his kitchen." 

 

"He's not as horrible as I feared," Eleanor allows. "We're making progress, I think, as long as he figures out that the effort he can put into his life is worth it." 

 

"He chooses to put on a facade, what he thinks others are looking for," Flint says after a moment. "But I think he does care deeply, about these things."

 

"You like him, don't you?" Anne says suddenly from the back seat. Without really thinking about it, Flint lunges forward, turning off the tiny camera in the front, as Eleanor briefly brakes before hitting the gas pedal once again.

 

"What?" he says, caught between his gesture and her words. "I don't - what?" 

 

"Oh my god," Eleanor says as if she's come to some epiphany. "You do!"

 

"I'm  _married,_ " Flint reminds them.

 

"Doesn't mean you don't," Anne says, and Flint swivels in his seat, trying to tell if that's really a hint of a grin on her face. 

 

"He cares, huh?" Eleanor repeats, and she's definitely grinning when he looks at her. "Look at you."

 

"We were just talking about him,  _as is our job_ ," Flint says heatedly, trying to not sound as defensive as he feels. What - "I don't - you're reading into this." 

 

Eleanor looks into her rearview mirror. "Anne, how do you think Flint is going to reconcile his marriage with this soon-to-be-boyfriend?"

 

"Guilty sex," Anne says way too soon, then, "Is your husband the type to key a car?" 

 

"Tune in to  _Queer Eye_ , where the love triangles just heat up," Eleanor replies. "God, MTV is going to want in on this action for season two." 

 

"Let me out of this goddamn car," Flint says. "See if I do another  _episode_  with any of you."

 

 

•••

 

 

"Fashion show time," Max announces. They're all in the living room part of the suite that they had gotten for Silver to live in, while Anne's demolishing his apartment. Silver had disappeared with Max about half an hour ago to try on some of the clothes they had bought today, while Flint had ignored Eleanor's knowing stares, and poured himself a martini while they wait. 

 

"Where's Anne?" Muldoon asks. "Should we - "

  
"Tearing down some disturbing clown posters, I don't know," Eleanor says. 

 

"If you're tearing down clown posters, I think you're renovating the wrong apartment," Silver's voice filters in from the attached bedroom. "Shall I come out?"

 

"Only in your own time, and to the people you trust," Eleanor says, and she takes the liberty to tap her glass against Flint's. "Max, please tell me he's not in a fucking neon shirt." 

 

"I find it offensive that you ask," Max tells her, then raises her voice, "John! The first casual outfit, if you will." 

 

Silver opens the door, and when he comes out - well.

 

Flint's never been particularly focused on fashion, but he finds himself with a sudden interest in this new wardrobe. Silver's in dark wash jeans that are fit to his legs and waist, a gray tee-shirt that dips just a little on his collar, and a black pinstripe blazer that should look terrible on top of it all - yet with the way that the sleeves are pushed up a little, his hair tamed into something a little neater, he looks - 

 

Flint takes another long sip of his martini. 

 

"Wow," Muldoon says, then, "You - wow."

 

"Right," Max says, "That's the reaction that we were going for." 

 

"Olives," Flint says, "Do we have olives?" 

 

"I do feel good," Silver admits. "These are surprisingly comfortable." 

 

"All of us think you're  _surprisingly hot_ ," Eleanor says, and she's blinking. "You're never to wear green again, you hear me?" 

 

"Green's my favorite color," Silver says with mock despondency, and Flint's not sure he can stand up. "Shall I show you the next?"

 

" _Please_ ," Muldoon says. "God, once we get that beard taken care of - I'd marry you myself."

 

Silver blows a kiss at him, and then he disappears back into the room. Eleanor nudges Flint's knee with hers. "Need an aspirin, old man?" 

 

"I need another martini," Flint tells her, and she rises to make him one. 

 

"Another martini," the bird repeats, sounding somewhat mournful. 

 

The next outfit that Silver comes out isn't much better for Flint's nerves. He's in a cream sweater that makes the blue of his eyes stand out, over mustard-colored trousers and brown boots that hit just right at his ankle. He's also got a single gold hoop earring in, one that catches the light, and Flint is fucking  _paralyzed._

 

"Do the pose," Max urges, and Silver sticks his hands into the front pockets - Jesus, his hands are too big, but it  _somehow works_  - and cocks a hip out, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't he - "

 

"Like a Ralph Lauren show," Muldoon exclaims.

 

Silver returns in three more outfits, and the last one - a dark blue suit, fitted with eerie precision to his shoulders that Flint cannot believe isn't custom made - Max makes all of them stand up in a standing ovation - including Anne, who had come in during the suit show, and had given him an appraising look - a seal of approval in itself, as Max had glowed.

 

"That's what fashion does," Max says, looking rather smug as she puts an arm around Silver's waist. "It feels good, yes?"

 

Silver catches Flint's eye. "It sure does," he says, cheerful, and he winks.

  
Flint is  _fucked_. 

 

 

•••

 

 

"So," Flint says, staring at the screen, "I have to tell you something."

 

"Twice in one week, you call me," Thomas muses out loud. "Did you get another tattoo?" 

 

"Uh, no," Flint says. "See - "

 

"I love my husband so much," Thomas declares, and the guilt comes back, wrenching through Flint's chest. Maybe he shouldn't - "He's a very strange man, though, because he's tearing himself apart over some very simple things, and he's absolutely ridiculous if he thinks that if he loves me, he could ever be unfaithful to me."

 

"Oh," Flint says. "Hang on - how did you know?" 

  
"You've been twisting your ring this entire time," Thomas says. "Also, Eleanor's been texting me." 

 

"I - nothing has happened," Flint rushes. "God, you must know that - "

 

"I know, and that's what concerns me, honestly," Thomas says. "This Silver, you like him?"

 

"I've known him for four days." 

 

  
"The heart wants what it wants," Thomas says, with a quirk to his mouth. "I knew I would marry you after five minutes, dear. And I know that you love me no matter what, and that's all I could ever ask." 

 

"Of course," Flint says immediately, "And - yes. I suppose so. But - " 

 

"While I have you on, Miranda sends her love," Thomas tells him. "You know, she knows your boyfriend, right?" 

 

"He's not my - how do they even know each other?" 

 

"I don't remember," Thomas says. "Friend of a friend, I think, you know how it goes. It's incredible how many mutual people we know, and yet it's only now that you're meeting." 

 

"Yeah, well, his girlfriend is visiting on Friday," Flint says, and he changes the conversation, as the pang in his chest is less guilt and more how much he misses his husband in this moment. "How's work?" 

 

"Busy as usual," Thomas tells him, and his face lights up. Flint reaches to the screen, touches the pixels like he can imagine he's there now, as his husband continues, "The cat caught a mouse this morning though - oh, and you have to hear this, it nearly gave me a heart attack - so I was sleeping in, and I heard this scratching on the door - " 

 

 

•••

 

 

Flint's waiting for Silver when he returns from work. Silver takes one look at him and starts to shrug off his jacket. 

 

"If you're here for another cooking lesson," Silver tells him, rolling his shoulders, "I have seen some of the price tags that Max missed on these, and I'm about to lock these in a vault because I will never be able to afford to replace them - "

 

"I'm not here to teach you to cook," Flint says. "I'm here because you need to know something."

 

That makes Silver stop, and he glances over at the cameramen in the corner. "Oh?"

 

"It's about you," Flint continues, as Silver begins to blink quickly, nearly looking guilty, "About your past."

 

That makes Silver looks even more confused as he pulls off the jacket. "What?" 

 

"I did some research on you," Flint says. "You weren't born here. You don't have any schooling records, nor any living biological family - " 

 

"Sorry," Silver says, "Are you saying you did a background check on me?" 

 

"Well, yes," Flint says. "I don't know what Eleanor said to you, but this is a life improvement show. If you're not being forthcoming, I - we're concerned."

 

"I haven't hidden any extensive criminal past or anything that'll get your show in trouble, I mean," Silver says, looking rather like he thinks Flint is crazy. "I don't know what you want - "

 

"That's it," Flint says, and he turns to the cameraman. "Could we have the room?"

 

The man hesitates. "We need to film more conversations - "

 

"Just a moment, please," Silver says, and he fixes a smile on his face. The man obliges, after a moment, packing up the camera and ushering his assistant out. Flint might need to learn how to be nicer to people, especially if season two becomes a thing (oh god). 

 

Once they're alone, Silver turns back to him. "What are you here for?" 

 

Flint twists a strand from the blanket on the back of the couch between his fingers. "You said you don't know what you want."

 

"I don't." Silver folds up his jacket now. 

 

"You seem to be the sort of person to know that others want," Flint says, and he waits until Silver's looking at him, and he holds his eye. "To be open with others - "

 

"And you thought you should bring it up," Silver says. "You know, Eleanor mentioned this on Monday. Did she send you now?" 

 

"They made me come and talk to you," Flint says, and he shifts. "They think we have some... rapport." 

 

But Silver nods like this makes sense. "Well, some of that is true," he says. "I think you and I would be good friends." 

 

Flint resists the urge to swallow. "You know what others want," he continues, "And that's a gift of yours. Perhaps in your life, it's been a great benefit. But in other ways, it will only hurt you."

 

Silver lets out a surprised laugh, fingers flexing on the fabric. "Sorry, are you suggesting that you know how I've somehow hurt myself in my life?" 

 

"I'm not presuming, I'm warning you," Flint tells him. "Being emotionally vulnerable - it's terrifying. But it's the only way, to open yourself up, to live fully."

 

"You don't seem the type to be emotionally vulnerable," Silver says, and there's a sort of critical look in his eye. "Tell me, is this truly a warning, or is it a welcome?"  

 

It's sometime during this conversation that Flint begins to realize that he and Silver might be far more similar than either one of them would admit. The longer he waits to answer, the more Silver looks at him, right in the eye - well, he sees himself in some way, but more importantly, he sees someone who understands. Someone, he thinks, might understand him like no other, if they both weren't so proud, stubborn, whatever. 

 

Flint says, "I wish I had, earlier. I want to tell you now because I think it will help. It's a warning to resist the urge to close yourself off, and a welcome because - you're not alone. Not in this." 

 

"Yeah?" 

 

"Yeah," Flint says. "When Madi comes - just. Try to be open. Don't try to show her what you think she wants, because I guarantee you, the people that matter, they'll always see through it." 

 

There's a strange sort of intensity crackling now, and for a moment - Flint wonders. But then Silver's posture relaxes. "This has been a very strange conversation," and Flint thinks that it might have been for nothing.

 

But then Silver adds, in the quietest voice Flint has yet heard from him, "Thank you." 

 

 

•••

 

 

He knows that Silver loves Madi. Flint can see that those feelings even if Silver doesn't entirely voice them out loud. 

 

There's nothing between them. There's nothing to be jealous about, Flint reminds himself. They're going to finish up, Silver is going to live his best life, and then they're off to the next episode. 

 

That's it. 

 

 

•••

 

 

Muldoon stares at him in the mirror. "Today," he says, "Your life will be changed."

 

Silver shifts, the towel around his shoulders slipping a little, or at least until Muldoon grabs another clip to secure it in place. "Generally, I would assume that's hyperbole, but you do seem serious." 

 

"I'm always serious." 

 

Silver says, "Are you going to give me any life advice before we start? You all seem pretty big on that - " 

 

"You needed this," Muldoon informs him. "You're a pretty man. Once this - " and he gestures to the beard, the hair - "Is dealt with, you will be  _stunning_."

 

Silver watches as he picks up a pair of silver scissors, a clipper. "Yes?"

 

"Yes," Muldoon says emphatically, readjusting the barber's chair. "Now,  _don't move."_

 

•••

 

 

Flint pats down his pockets. Anne's just finished showing him the renovations, and he can't find the keys to the van anywhere, where he's pretty sure he left his phone.

 

"Max?" he calls. "Eleanor?" 

 

There's no answer, and Flint sighs. Anne's disappeared somewhere into the kitchen, likely to oversee the cabinet installation with a severe eye, and so he heads out to the driveway.

 

He opens the van, expecting to see his phone lying on the back seat. What he's not expecting is Eleanor's legs flying out at him, Max's bare feet tucked in between hers.

 

"Uh," Flint says, hand frozen on the door. "Excuse me."

 

"Oh my god," Eleanor says from somewhere inside, and there's a movement of limbs and clothing - and Flint looks down at his shoes, at the newly trimmed grass beneath them - until Max and Eleanor are both climbing out from the backseat. 

 

"Apologies," Max says after a long moment, and when Flint dares look up, she has a rather unrepentant look on her face. "Did you need something?" 

 

"My phone," Flint says, willing away any other expression on his face. "I think it's - in  there."

 

Eleanor looks more embarrassed, or maybe that's just the flush high on her cheeks - or the lipstick on her neck. "I didn't see it," she says. "Flint - "

 

"I really don't need to know," Flint says, hurried, and he turns to leave and runs right into Anne.

 

"You left your phone in the painting area," Anne says, holding it up. Flint takes it silently, as her eyes shift to over his shoulder, at the two women. 

 

He thinks about the looks Anne has been giving Max these few days - well, along with the looks that have passed between Max and Eleanor, or at least the history he knows there - Flint's not sure what's about to happen. After all, this quite possibly must be the worst conclusion for at least one person, at least - but then Anne snorts.

 

"The car? Really?" she says, looking between them. "Classy." 

 

"Like you were complaining before," Eleanor says, and her chin is challenging -  _flirty_. "I thought we locked the door, to be fair." 

 

"First Muldoon, now Flint," Max says. "I suppose the secret is out now?"

 

Flint can't help it. " _Muldoon_ knew?"

 

"Well, he was only making eyes at Silver like the rest of us," Eleanor says. "You were the one agonizing over your life plan with him." 

 

"I was  _not_ \- " Flint turns so that he can look at all three of them. "Exactly how long has this been going on?"

 

  
"Officially? The second day here," Eleanor says. "There were some miscommunications on the way, I'll grant - " 

 

"It works," Max says, right to Flint. Her eyes are surprisingly soft. "It was only a secret because it was so new." 

 

"I'm glad," Flint says finally. "I am." 

 

"Sorry about defiling the van," Anne calls out, and Flint vows to himself that he's never sitting in that back seat ever again. They owe him that, at least. 

 

 

•••

 

 

Silver runs a hand over his head. "Holy shit," he says, in no small amount of awe. "I look - " 

 

" _Incredible_ ," Muldoon says. "Your girlfriend? She's going to do a double take."

 

"You know when I first saw you - " Silver gestures. "You're a grooming expert, and yet you have no hair?" 

 

"I trust no one with my hair, so I cut it off," Muldoon informs him as he starts pushing Silver's hair around a little, testing the angles. "Easy as that." 

 

"Very," Silver says. "You - you are a wizard of a man."

 

"I'm about to change your life once again," Muldoon says. "Now, for your skincare routine - " 

 

 

•••

 

 

Between the final preparations for the date, and Flint convincing Anne not to murder Muldoon with a hammer when he blows a brand new fuse just before Silver's due to arrive back to the apartment - Flint doesn't see Silver. 

 

He does, however, get a text from Thomas.  _Good luck_ , it reads, with two little smile faces blowing hearts. 

 

Flint pockets his phone with a smile. He's thinking that he'll fly back home, maybe surprise Thomas for the long weekend. 

 

What's unexpected is when they're doing the final touches, a car pulls up to the front. The woman who comes out is dressed to the nines and carrying what appears to be a large recycled grocery bag, as she walks up to the door.  

 

The only people inside are some of Anne's contractors, so Flint walks around the van, approaching from behind. "Hello?" he says, as she turns around. 

 

"I'm here for John," the woman says. "Are you - do you live here?" 

 

The lack of cameras at this moment, he'll admit, don't serve him well. "We're part of a television show," Flint says, "And we're - following John. Helping him. You might have heard of it - " 

 

The woman, however, looks interested. "Oh!" she says, "The  _Queer Eye_ remake, right? You must be one of the celebrities. John mentioned them on the phone."

 

He thinks he knows who this must be. "Yes," Flint says. "I am one of the... Fab Five." 

 

"Of course," the woman says, and she holds out her hand. She has sharp yet not unkind eyes that seem to appraise Flint, but far from in a judging way. "I'm Madi Scott."

 

"James Flint," Flint says, shaking it. "A pleasure."

 

"Ah, the chef," Madi says, and her smile is warm, chasing the last remnants of the irrational jealousy in him.  "I was hoping to surprise John, but I suppose I did not consider that I would have to work around a film crew."

 

"I can show you around," Flint offers. "We just renovated his apartment - he's not due to be back until later today."

 

Madi lets out a surprisingly loud snort. "Finally," she says. "I was worried I would find him crushed under a birdcage one day."

 

"That's always a possibility," Flint says. He looks at the bag on her arm. "Can I help you with those?"

 

"Oh, just some food," Madi says. "He eats so poorly - although, maybe much better now?" 

 

"Well, he's getting there," Flint allows, and he goes by her to open the front door. 

 

"I've heard much about you, I'll admit," Madi says as she steps in. "John spoke much on the phone the other night." 

 

"Well," Flint says, "All of us are very much focused on him this week - Eleanor, our Culture Consultant, well, I think she really helped - " 

 

"It seems I have you to thank the most," Madi says, and he stops. "We talked for a long time that night." 

 

Flint stops. "I hope," he says, "It was... beneficial." 

 

Madi's eyes are warm when he dares look at her. "It was," she says, then, "I'm glad someone else cares about him. He's rather tough to get through to, I'll say." 

 

Flint feels like he's passed some test, as Madi toes off her heels. "He is," he says. "Now, you're going to have to pretend that this is the first time you've seen all this later when he shows you around, but the kitchen is just so different - " 

 

 

•••

 

 

When Silver walks into the brand new living room, he blinks. 

 

Then blinks again. 

 

"Holy shit," he says, then, "Is this really mine?" 

 

"It's been repainted," Anne says from somewhere behind him, "And the wall between the kitchen and the front hall - " 

 

"There's so much  _space_ ," Silver says, taking it all in with the rest of them - the pale green walls, the sandy wood of the new furniture, the windows that are no longer covered in posters - "My bird cages!"

 

"Anne built those herself," Max supplies, as he runs a hand over the antique-looking metal, letting the green bird inside briefly peck at his finger. "Plenty of space for them, and they fit in with the decor."

 

"I have  _plants_ ," Silver says with no small amount of awe, as the cameramen step in fully, filming his stunned reaction. "This looks like a catalog photo _._ "

 

Flint clears his throat. "There's something else," he says, and he steps to the side.

 

Behind him, Madi comes out, holding a large covered object, and Silver's face lights up. 

 

"I think this might be yours," Madi says, pulling off the cloth. Inside of the old cage, there's a bright yellow bird. "One of your neighbors found her in their garden." 

 

Silver's grin is nearly blinding. "My girls!" he says, going forward and kissing Madi. Flint watches as he kneels down next, speaking in a low, rumbling voice to the bird.

 

Madi makes eye contact with Flint - a resigned, yet pleased expression on her face - and Flint finds himself matching it with a smile. 

 

Eleanor says, "We'll let you two catch up then," and they file out of the house. As they go, Flint sees Madi whisper something to Silver, who looks over her shoulder, right at Flint. 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

They get a call from the producers, all standing around the phone on speaker. "The footage so far looks great," Idelle enthuses. "We're really looking forward to more!"

 

"Just, please watch your language," Featherstone says. "Charlotte's having a heart attack trying to edit some of it smoothly."

 

"Your next contestant is just outside of New Orleans," Idelle adds. "Talk to you soon!"

 

"And don't forget about the language!"

 

"Sure," Eleanor says, and she hits the end call button. "Fuck that. We're making this authentically or not at all." 

 

 

•••

 

 

Returning to the house, Madi and Silver are both sitting on the couch when they reenter. "We're here to see you both off," Max tells them. "Are you enjoying the new space?"

 

"It's perfect," Silver says, a camera-ready grin already on his face. With the coiffed hair and beard now, he could be standing right beside any of them, or hosting his own show. "I can't wait to try out these new hops that Madi brought me too - " 

 

"And what do you think you've learned this week?" Muldoon interrupts, for the benefit of the cameras. "Tell us." 

 

Silver crosses his arms. "That tee-shirts don't count as clothing unless I'm painting," he says, and Max huffs. "That I should probably learn how to fish. That moisturizer is important, and that birdcages can look pretty good. Oh, and how to crack an egg, so really, I've covered all the important bases." 

 

Behind Muldoon, Flint snorts. "We wanted to thank you for being our first makeover," he says, and he holds Silver's eye. "You do deserve it." 

 

Silver dips his head just a little. "This has been," he says, looking right back at Flint, "A truly strange week. But I want to say - "

 

"I know I'm late, sorry, I got lost from the airport," a voice says just as the door opens, and they all turn. "Oh, I'm so sorry, you're filming now - " 

 

"Miranda?" Flint says, surprised. "What are you doing here?" 

 

Madi's rising from the couch. "It's all right, he was just doing some wrap-ups for the camera," she says. "Isn't this such a nice space?" 

 

"James," Miranda says, smiling, and Flint's a little too stunned to do much more than accept the kiss she presses to his cheek. "It's been too long." 

 

"Wait, how do you two know each other?" Silver says, looking about as confused as Flint feels.

 

"Oh," Eleanor says, as Madi reaches them, as she kisses Miranda. Then, " _Oh."_

 

"My girlfriend," Madi says, turning to all of them, then to Flint. "Although - I believe you might know her already." 

 

Miranda looks at all of them, then at Flint. "You didn't know?" 

 

"You said his name was James McGraw," Madi says, chiding, but her eyes are just as bright as when she looks at Silver. "I didn't know they were the same person." 

 

Both Silver and the parrot echo, "McGraw?" 

 

Flint coughs. "Before I got married."

 

"It's a funny story, that," Miranda says. "He was supposed to change it to Hamilton - but it turns out, the paperwork is such a hassle if you want to change it again, especially if your excuse is 'drunk pirate themed wedding in Vegas'." 

 

"That is a lot of information that, quite honestly, I need to process," Silver says. He nods to Miranda. "It is good to see you, though - how was your flight?" 

 

Flint turns to the others. "This has been the weirdest week of my life," he decides.

 

 

•••

 

 

"Flint," Silver says, "Hey, wait - " 

 

"I have to catch a flight," Flint says, and Silver's expression drops ever so slightly. "Weekend at home, and then we're off to New Orleans." 

 

"It's all just such a strange coincidence, right?" Silver says. He looks rather - flustered, as he stands there, smoothing out the front of his dark jeans. "It's like we should have crossed paths so many times before - I mean, your best friend, my girlfriend together - " 

 

"It is," Flint says, and he keeps his tone light. "I really do have to go - "

 

“Hey, are those off?” Silver asks, nodding to the cameras. One of the men nod in return, so he turns to Flint. "I wanted to thank you." 

 

"You don't have to," Flint tells him. "It was good meeting you, Silver. I... enjoyed our time, together. The haircut helps." 

 

A pleased smile stretched out on Silver’s face. “Yeah?” 

 

Flint takes a deep breath in. “Yes. Thanks for being on the first episode.” He needs to walk away,  _now_. 

 

“Yes,” Silver says, and a flicker of -  _something_  - goes across his face. “There is one more thing I have to do.”

 

Flint glances around them. “I don’t think Anne can physically fit in any more birdcages - " 

 

He’s interrupted by Silver stepping close, his hand going to Flint’s elbow, pulling him in. “I was going to say, how about we go out for dinner?” Silver suggests, and Flint’s brain temporarily goes offline. “My treat. I have a brand new wallet, too. Max-approved." 

 

“Uh - “

 

“Give him a moment,” Max says, from somewhere behind him, and Silver rolls his eyes. 

 

"Madi," Flint says. "You're going to be late with your dinner." 

  
"She decided to spend the night catching up with Miranda," Silver says. "We decided the other night. But she's going to spend some more time in Savannah." He moves just a little closer, so Flint can see the edge of his jaw, now visible even under his beard. "Just like how I might be amenable to some other long distance things. So how about that dinner?" 

 

“I have a husband,” Flint says.

 

“He can come too,” Silver says. “Eleanor gave me his number. We talked this morning. He says you have a fondness for this Polish restaurant nearby?” 

 

“That’s  _his_  favorite,” Flint mutters, then his brain finally catches up. “Silver - what are you asking me?" 

 

“You stupid, handsome man,” Silver says, the curl of his mouth fond, as he leans in, and kisses him. 

 

Flint’s ears are probably going red in front of everyone, but he kisses Silver right back. Tugging him in by the lapels of that suit is even more satisfying, as is feeling Silver's fingers digging into his hair, the rasp of his mouth against Flint's. 

 

Suddenly, everything is starting to make sense. 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

As it turns out, the cameras were off, but the microphones attached to their lapels were most certainly not.

 

The audio clip of Silver saying “You stupid, handsome man,” go viral. Thomas hits play again, and then again, with his feet on Flint's lap. 

 

“Can I make this my ringtone?” he asks Flint, who’s trying to smother himself with a tasteful couch cushion. He plays it again. “It would be for just when you called."

 

“Hey, make sure he’s not leaving us on this mortal plane here,” Silver says, peering into the living room, “And you -  come help me with this guacamole. I substituted this spreadable cheese for some of the sour cream, since I think we're out, but I think it might actually work out?" 

 

“Coming!” Thomas says, patting Flint once more on the head before he gets up, stretching his long limbs. "God, I love technology." 

 

“Sour cream - oh God,” Flint groans. “There’s no sour cream in guacamole - Silver!"

 

•••

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @jamesbarlow on tumblr!


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